


Cost of the Island

by luckydip



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, Post-War, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-16 05:19:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13047294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckydip/pseuds/luckydip
Summary: Seventeen years after the evacuation, Peter finally sets foot on the French soil at Dunkirk.





	Cost of the Island

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyoneill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide ladyoneill, I really hope you like this! Thanks to S for the beta.

_29 June 1957_

Peter was already up on deck as the beaches of Dunkirk came into view. It was odd, now that he was stopped and thinking about it, that Dunkirk had played such a big part in his life, not least as the reason he’d joined up, and yet Peter had never set foot in Dunkirk. 

When the Moonstone had helped with the evacuation in 1940, they had taken survivors from a sinking destroyer straight out of the water and never made it to the lines of men on the beaches. After George’s funeral, he’d enlisted in the navy and been sent to fight the German U-boats in the Atlantic. After four straight years of war at sea, Peter had lost his love of sailing. It brought up too many memories that he tried to keep buried. Despite his Dad’s best efforts, he’d moved on from Weymouth and couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on a boat.

The houses along the shoreline had been rebuilt and even early in the morning, there were a few families collected on blankets on the sand, watching the boats arrive. The whole port looked tranquil, a far cry from the destruction it had seen during the war. Peter gave a soft smile, relieved to see that life here had recovered and was moving on. 

As the boat pulled into the harbour, Peter grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder and headed for the gangplank. With one eye still on the beaches, Peter walked straight into someone else trying to disembark. 

He turned to apologise and came face to face with a man he recognised. It was the last soldier they’d pulled from the water before the oil had caught fire. Peter had never caught the soldier’s name but he’d never forget the fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins as he gripped the soldier’s arm, pulling him through the water as the Moonstone tried to outrun the explosion. In some of his nightmares he’d not managed to hold on and he’d watched as the soldier slipped through his fingers and into the flames. Peter could still hear the screams ringing in his ears.

Coming back to himself; Peter belatedly realised that the soldier was staring. He shook himself off and held out a hand in apology. “I’m sorry, mate.”

The soldier gave him a wry smile and a quick nod, and then gestured for Peter to head on down the gangplank first. Once he’d made his way off the boat, onto the sand and out of the way, Peter looked back around for the soldier, only to find that he’d disappeared into the growing crowd of people coming off the boats in the harbour.

Momentarily disappointed that they hadn’t spoken, although Peter had no idea what they would have talked about, Peter hoisted his bag higher and went off in search of the room he’d booked for the night.

Once he’d found the room and freshened up, Peter changed into his dress uniform and went back to the seafront. The crowd had built up significantly whilst he’d been inside, both veterans and civilians heading towards the memorial to those that had died at Dunkirk during that campaign. 

So much was made of the evacuation and the 300,000 soldiers that Operation Dynamo had brought home, but Peter rarely heard anyone talk about the men that were left behind to guard the perimeter, or those that had died trying to cross the channel. It was important to remember them, and it was why Peter had decided to come once the British Legion had put the call out for veterans to attend the unveiling of the memorial.

Most of those in uniform were army, but there were RAF soldiers, and a few, like Peter, in naval uniforms. He took his place beside one of the memorial screen walls that was still covered with a union flag in preparation from the unveiling ceremony.

The Queen Mother took her place on the podium and paid tribute to the soldiers, sailors and airmen that had given their lives at Dunkirk. Very few of the soldiers had known graves and so were commemorated on screen walls. Peter had to agree with her; it was a beautiful setting and once the crowds from the ceremony had gone, it would be a peaceful place to remember the dead. 

After the ceremony was finished, the memorials unveiled and the Queen Mother had been escorted back to Chieftain, other people began to lay wreaths and flowers at the memorial. Peter had his in one hand and was looking for somewhere to place it when someone called out to him. 

“There’s a face I recognise.” A pair of officers in light blue uniforms approached him, RAF. “Peter, isn’t it?” 

Peter looked at the pilot who had spoken. He’d definitely seen him before, but it took him a moment to work out where. Suddenly something clicked, and Peter realised who it was. “Collins?”

“The one and only.” Collins grinned. “This is Farrier.” He gestured to the pilot that was with him. “He was with me at Dunkirk. Peter and his Dad pulled me out of that Spitfire after it took a hit.” Collins explained to Farrier. 

Farrier looked over at him with approval. "Your Dad navy too?"  
  
Peter shook his head. "We were civilians. Dad has a fishing boat moored at Weymouth."  
  
"I thought the navy requisitioned the boats for the evacuation?"  
  
"Dad wanted to help." Peter laughed. "Besides, I don't think he trusted anyone else with the Moonstone."  
  
"It was brave of you to go with him." Collins pointed out, "you were barely twenty yourself."  
  
"Nineteen." And at the time, Peter hadn't really known what he was getting himself into. Dunkirk was his first firsthand experience with the war.  
  
"Is your Dad here?" Collins asked.  
  
Peter shook his head. "He wanted to be." And he had, but his health wasn't what it was and the doctor had forbidden him from travelling.  
  
"Maybe next time." Collins offered. "He can't have been thrilled when you enlisted?"  
  
Understatement. Both Peter and his brother had been exempt from conscription as they could be used as merchant sailors but Chris had joined the RAF to do his part. When Peter had come home with his papers after Dunkirk Dad had hit the roof. Expressly forbidden it, he'd lost his wife and eldest son, he wasn't going to lose the only family he had left.  
  
He'd come around eventually and had squeezed Peter tight before his deployment. But when Peter had returned, the shock and grief in his Dad's eyes belayed his positive words and it was clear he'd never really believed Peter would be returned to him. Peter still stood by his decision to fight but it didn't completely ease his guilt.  
  
"He was proud of me," he finally settled on. Not a lie, at least.  
  
"Of course he was." Collins patted him on the shoulder. "We were just off to get a drink, fancy joining us?"  
  
"Sounds good. I just need to do something first." Peter lifted the flowers in his hand.  
  
They organised a place to meet and Collins turned to leave, but Farrier held back to speak to him.  
  
"Thank you," he said quietly, so that Collins couldn't overhear them.  
  
"It was nothing." Honestly, they'd just done what most people would have in their situation.  
  
"It was everything." Farrier shot back. "My plane came down at Dunkirk after the evacuation. I... I wouldn't have got through it if it wasn't for him."  
  
"I understand. You're welcome."  
  
Farrier nodded and headed after Collins. Peter turned to the closest wall. "Did you hear that George? You were part of that." He carefully laid the poppies with the clipping he'd bought  of George from the local paper. As a civilian George's name wouldn't be engraved on the memorial but Peter hoped that someone might read the article and know of his contribution. "Rest in Peace, George."  
  



End file.
